


Happy New Year

by LMT



Category: Eastern Promises (2007)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28464162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMT/pseuds/LMT
Summary: They ring in the new year together.  It’s less fun than Kirill was expecting, but winds up a good deal sweeter.((Takes place immediately after the end of the movie.))
Relationships: Kirill/Nikolai Luzhin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 9





	Happy New Year

**A/N: This one is basically just fluff, cause this has been a pretty dark year. So here: have some fluff!**

* * *

Kirill plopped down into the booth. “Kolya, you’re like a fucking old man,” he shouted over the pounding bass. “Come dance!” He tried to throw his arm around, but Nikolai wasn’t having it, shoved him off. That was all right – this early into the night he was still a happy drunk. “Well it’s almost midnight anyway. So get ready to toast the fucking New Year!”

“Okay.” Nikolai poured himself another drink and slumped back. “Soon I have to get back to hospital. After the toast I’m going, okay?”

“Hospital? You just left the hospital.”

“Just to come get you. So you didn’t drown your fucking sister,” he reminded quietly. 

Kirill didn’t let mention of the baby distract him – he just squinted at Nikolai through the strobe light, and decided he didn’t like what he saw. “You’re not shitting me,” he realized. That quickly, his good mood vanished. “What the fuck are you doing at a party if you should be in the fucking hospital?” 

“I don’t know.” Somehow, Nikolai was smiling. “You give me order, right?”

“Don’t get smart with me!” Kirill shoved him. Nikolai winced and went _ah_.

And Kirill was horrified. “Get up! Get the fuck up right now!” he barked. “We’re taking you-”

At that moment the club erupted in a countdown. “ _TEN! NINE! EIGHT-_!”

“Shut up! Everybody shut the fuck up!” he shouted back, dragging Nikolai out of his seat, amazed at how _heavy_ he was but dragging him anyway.

“Kirill, Kirill, it’s okay,” Nikolai mumbled, patting at him and then collapsing against his chest.

“ _-ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!_ ” The _WOOOO’s_ were deafening. Kirill struggled to stay upright as people threw champagne all over them and bumped them from every side. Nikolai was holding onto him so tight that breathing became a problem, flinching left and right every time somebody hit a sore spot.

“Okay, okay, we’re going, come on, almost there – _get your fucking hands off, bitch!_ – come on.” Kirill fought them a path through the shifting forest of hips and elbows, shielding Nikolai as best he could. Panicking much too hard to think of waiting for the frenzy to die down.

They made the doorway at last and spilled out onto the street. “Stand up! Stand the fuck up, let go of me-… What’s so fucking funny?”

Nikolai was clinging to him, dragging them both down every time his legs went out from under him. “Now you know what it’s like,” he explained, “All the nights you get drunk and I have to carry you home.” He laughed wildly, still gripping Kirill’s collar with both hands.

The sound of Nikolai in hysterics was frightening, but after this many drinks, also funny. Kirill eased them both down to the ground and they sat there laughing for a few minutes until they could get a handle on themselves. “Okay. I’m going to call a motherfucking taxi, okay? Okay. Hey! Hey, bitch! Help! I need a taxi – my fucking driver can’t drive!”

* * *

Nikolai woke up to firm, warm arms around him. “Where are we?” he said.

He could hear Kirill’s voice from very far away, even angrier and more impatient than usual. “I said fuck the stoplights! My friend’s fucking dying back here, you just fucking go!”

“Kirill, relax – I’m going as fast as I can,” he murmured, as usual. Something wasn’t right, though-

It was all black: his eyes were closed. _He was driving with his fucking eyes closed_ -

He jerked hard, in terror, and got a huge squeeze. “Hold still, you stupid, we’re almost there,” Kirill murmured close to his ear. “Just stay up a few more minutes, you hear me? That’s a motherfucking order, Kolya, you better fucking listen to me.”

Nikolai had no idea what he was talking about. “Да, да, okay,” he soothed anyway. Shivering.

* * *

The next time he opened his eyes he was in a hospital room. “Ehh-.” He stopped. His voice wasn’t coming out right.

Kirill was sprawled out in a chair, dozing. At the sound he sat up fast and looked around. “You’re awake,” he said after a minute. “That’s good.”

He nodded. He was awake.

“You’re okay. You were out all night and all day, it’s almost night again. They had to put in some more stitches, but you’re okay.”

He nodded again. He did not feel okay.

“They want you to stay here again tonight. I’m going to stay too,” Kirill said. “To look out for you. Because what the fuck are you going to do if anybody else comes by?”

Nikolai shifted a little in the bed. “Okay,” he said, barely above a whisper. Why was his head so clouded? Aha: there was some machine at his side, and a line in his arm. “что это-? Morphine?”

“Yeah, morphine. They said it would… hey! What the fuck are you doing?”

“Take it off. I don’t need this. Morphine is for junkies.”

Kirill poked at the machine, and Nikolai watched, bemused, certain that he didn’t know how to work it. Sure enough, before long he lost patience and just tied a knot in the tubing. “There – that should fix it.” Then he sat down closer to the bed. “Come on, I’ll give you a drink.” He held out a bottle, hand unusually steady, and waited. 

Nikolai opened up and a small, careful mouthful was poured in. He swallowed. Accepted another one. On the third repetition he turned his head away from the bottle though; he felt more than fuzzy enough already. “It’s okay. Thanks.” He worked at waking his mind up the rest of the way.

Kirill paced the room. The silence mounted, until finally he burst out: “I think I should check your stitches. I mean, I’m going to be the boss now,” he added, nodding, obviously inventing on the fly, “I need to know what’s going on with my people, right? Need to see that the doctors did a good job.” He was fidgeting and twitching like a rabbit.

Nikolai sighed, with as deep a breath as he could take. They had their work cut out for them. “Kirill, bright side to being the boss is you don’t have to explain yourself to anybody. You want to see stitches? Just say.”

Kirill took a quick, bracing swig. “Okay: I want to see your fucking stitches.”

“Okay.” Nikolai tugged at his hospital gown a little, but opening it himself was too slow and too painful. He nodded for Kirill to do it.

When it was finally pulled out of the way Kirill froze. “Kolya!”

“What?” It sounded like a criticism. “I did best I could.”

Kirill’s fingers hovered over the biggest wound – not the worst one, but the most striking – almost touching the stiff black knots. “It looks like they did a good job,” he said at last, trying for confidence. Even though a haze of pain and drugs Nikolai could hear that he was talking straight out of his ass.

“Yeah? Good. Back too?” He eased himself onto his side. Endured more tugging at his clothes, and then heard another dismayed hiss. A long moment later he felt a light brushing tickle, which he eventually identified as Kirill’s hair. Something stung him – vodka maybe, or salt.

Eventually he rolled slowly down onto his back. “It’s okay,” he murmured, because he could feel even without looking that Kirill was badly agitated.

“It’s not _okay._ You almost got yourself _killed_.”

“ _Somebody_ almost got me killed,” he agreed mildly. “We’ll talk later, okay? Get some sleep.”

Kirill sat down and tilted his head back. A few minutes later he gave up and sat bolt upright. “Fuck this chair. How the fuck am I supposed to sleep in a chair.” He stood. “I’m coming up there with you.” A beat. “We can fit, no?”

Good that he was brave enough to suggest it. Even better that he knew he needed permission. “Okay. We can fit.” He shifted over, slow.

Kirill climbed up and stretched out surprisingly gracefully – he must be close to sober. He slid an arm under Nikolai’s neck and fed him another sip of vodka. He wiped his mouth, carefully, cleared the hair out of his face and fussed with the bandages on his cut cheek. Since he had himself firmly under control for a change, Nikolai allowed it.

In fact he did more than allow it; he turned and nuzzled briefly into Kirill’s shoulder before settling down to sleep. The bed was big enough as long as they were willing to lie against each other.

He drifted off listening to the soft steady beep of his heart monitor.

* * *

**The End.**

**Haha wow, this was embarrassingly fluffy. Hope you enjoyed anyway!**


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